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From: Andrew Roller <roller666@earthlink.net>
Subject: FUCK DECENCY 349 Dungeon of Desire NND g2
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THE WAGES OF SIN
notes by a (former) feminist
Many a minister (and other sanctimonious person) will tell you
about the sin of saying “yes”.
I’m here, my fellow women, to tell you about a far worse sin.
That’s the sin of saying “no.”
Take me, for instance. I was young once. My mother and my
community and my school taught me well. They taught me all about the
sin of saying “yes”. We were drilled in it daily at school. I imbibed
it innocently, completely, until it was me and I was it. I would never
say “yes.” Never. And I didn’t.
I was never raped. I was never molested. I may have been
stalked, when I was younger. Then again, it may only have been my
imagination.
I’m average. Call me Alison Average, if you like. You
wouldn’t consider me a knockout. On the other hand, you wouldn’t regard
me as ugly, either. At least, you wouldn’t have, if I was younger.
Now I’m old. I’m fat. (I compensated for not being raped,
molested, or stalked by overeating, you see.) I keep having to buy
larger dresses at the dress shop. I’m getting wrinkles. My hair is
thinning.
Why did they teach me that “All sex is rape?” Worse, why did I
believe it? Why did they teach me that being propositioned by a man is
a form of sexual harassment? And why did I fall for that crap?
These days, when men see me coming, they cross the street. The
last time I talked to a man was sometime in the 1980’s. (He didn’t ask
me out.)
Why did I attend all those women’s seminars? Endless lectures
by hairy ex-whores on the evils of men! Of *course* they don’t like
men. They long ago reduced men to a commodity, and had sex so many
times they got sick of it. I have a collection of dildoes at home
(bought from a catalog). But I can’t use my dildoes like they use
theirs because, never having had sex, I’m not about to deflower myself
with a hunk of plastic.
Girls, please! Listen to me! Say “yes”! Go out tonight! Let
yourself be propositioned by a stranger. Have unbelievable sex in some
back alley somewhere. The alternative is much, much worse: sitting at
home, watching public T.V. (I can’t watch commercial T.V. anymore, it’s
too heartbreaking. All those people talking about sex!)
(If you are stuck at home, though, there’s a highly informative
program on public T.V.: “Women in Crisis: Abuse in Our Nation’s
Homes.” It’s by a prominent feminist -- oops! There I go again!)
Let me tell you what it’s like to be an old maid like me. It’s
worse even than being a single mother. At least if you’re a single
mother, you can make a claim for welfare. When *I* tried to get
welfare, do you know what the *woman* at the Welfare Office said? She
said: “If you’ve got no kids, honey, you’re considered an able-bodied
adult. Just between you and me, I’d advise you to get your fat ass to
work.” (When I complained to her supervisor, she (the supervisor)
said: “We’re married, have kids, and work too. You’re all by
yourself. Who do you think you are, Cleopatra?”
Now I work at a dry cleaning establishment, cleaning the
dresses of (married) feminists with careers. While I majored in college
in Feminist Studies, learning all about the crimes of men, those women
majored in something useful, like accounting.
Don’t believe that feminist crap! Do you know who thought up
all that feminist crap? Women, who were having trouble meeting men.
They figured if they could convince all the other women (like me) that
“All Men Are Evil,” they’d reduce the amount of competition they faced.
It worked. They’re married. I’m not.
No men “harass” me by opening doors for me. No men “love me
and leave me,” saddling me with their children. My home (an apartment)
is cold and dark. Nobody helps me with the household chores. Nobody
calls. (Other women used to call me, long ago, but they’ve since
‘succumbed’ and gotten married. I’m sitting here with every book ever
published by feminists. They’re not nearly as much fun in bed as they
seemed years ago, when I bought them.)
Yes, my fellow women. The real sin is not in saying “yes.”
It’s in saying “no.” When you say “no,” do you know what happens?
Nothing! If you’re persistent enough in saying “no”, (I was) the guy
goes away! He meets a woman less well-versed in feminist orthodoxy, who
(guess what?) says “yes” to him!
Please, listen to me! Don’t just toss this message and think:
some message by some cranky old fool. Yes, I’m a crank, and a fool.
But now you know why: It’s because I didn’t say “yes” to the men of
this world!
(I have no idea how that wound up in this magazine, but please pass it
along to any women (or girls) you know who may need it. - h.j.)
Andrew Roller Presents
FUCK DECENCY
Sponsored by: Crab the dog
Issue No. 349
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls in
Dungeon of Desire
Chapter Four
One final preparation remained. And, as befitted Sauron’s
household, it was quite obscene. Katy stopped outside the tea room and
let go of Dick’s penis. I saw a small table with a Moistex pad on it,
unopened, beside the door, plus an empty glass flower vase and a box of
kleenex. I wondered at them. The vase had a long graceful neck but it
had been broken near the top of its neck, perhaps to make its vase mouth
wider. It looked as if it had once been rather narrow at the top of its
swan-like neck but now, being broken a little down, there was more room
for things to be put inside it. Yet flower stems were all the same,
were they not? What else could one put in a pretty vase like that?
Katy picked up the vase and turned and held it under Dick’s
cockhead.
“Make water,” she told him.
“Huh?” Dick asked. He watched as she tipped the vase forward a
little so that its mouth enclosed the crown of Dick’s penis. He
quivered in that smooth cut glass opening. Its edges were sharp, and
Katy had to be careful lest she cut him. “You cannot enter the tea room
with pee in your penis, or your bladder, or wherever you men keep it.
It would be impure. Japanese tradition requires that you pee before
having your tea.” She looked up at him, smiling, still holding the vase
quite carefully. “Anyways, you’ll pee more from drinking lots of tea,
so lets start fresh so you don’t have to excuse yourself to go to the
bathroom, big boy.”
I did not know whether Katy was lying or telling the truth.
But Dick, inspired by his dangerous situation and her sensuous eyes,
peed lustily. His stream burst forth and he filled the vase almost to
its rim. Katy had to be even more careful then, for if she wasn’t she’d
spill all the pee Dick had given her onto Sauron’s carpeted floor. She
placed the vase down onto the small table. It looked golden sitting
there, light shafting through it from a lamp nearby. Katy ripped open
the Moistex pad with her fingers and gently wiped Dick’s pee slit on his
cockhead. He shivered a little at the alcohol impregnated in the pad.
“There, now you’re all ready for tea,” Katy said to him. She
looked at me. “We girls must pee in pots,” she said. She pointed to
two painted gold pots sitting discreetly against the wall on the far
side of the table. I fetched mine. It was small like a bowl, but high
enough in its shape that I might pee into it without splashing too much
on myself.
I fetched a kleenex for when I was done and I squatted. Katy
got her bowl and placed it on the floor next to me and squatted over
hers, kleenex in hand. Dick watched, bright eyed. Lifting our kimonos
so we couldn’t mess ourselves, Katy and I peed into our bowls. We wiped
ourselves. We deposited our kleenex into our bowls. Mine floated on my
pee, like a crumpled boat. Katy took my bowl, hers also, and set them
beside Dick’s vase on the table.
“Someone will empty them,” she smiled. “Now let’s go
inside.”
Our gowns billowing, our footsteps soft, we made our way into
the tea room. I got a nod from Katy and accepted it as permission to
sit. Wearing only my collar round my throat, with my kimono open to
show my breasts, I sat down for traditional Japanese tea. Dick sat at
the next place. His penis, elevated by the wood on which he sat, thrust
itself onto the table. Katy smirked and seated herself on a cushion of
her own.
“Where’s Sauron?” Dick asked. The inevitable question, and
he’d had the courage to broach it. Katy settled herself on her cushion,
letting her legs lie open, pulling her kimono up so that it did not
block the view of her sex between her criss-crossed Indian-style legs.
She reached over and adjusted Dick’s robe so that his balls and his
penis would be displayed more completely.
“Sauron must be busy,” she answered. “I’m sure he’ll join us
soon.” She smiled at me and made sure I lifted and parted my kimono so
that my pussy would show as easily and freely as hers did. Then she
clapped her hands together, once.
To my utter shock and amazement, a servant appeared. And it
was no ordinary servant, either, like the faceless ones Miriam had. It
was Jennifer! She stepped out from what must have been the kitchen, her
head bowed, her hair done up Geisha-style like Katy’s was. But she wore
no formal kimono. Instead a simple white blouse covered her otherwise
nude figure, wafting at her waist, dipping just low enough to hide her
hips but leaving her pussy bare. Jennifer’s fur was completely on
display, and as I watched her mincing steps I doubted not that she would
have preferred to have panties on, even panties that creased her thighs.
“Jennifer’s learning to be our tea server,” Katy said. “We
procured her from her boyfriend. She’ll learn more from us.” I wanted
to ask how she’d been procured. But I knew. Somehow Sauron, in his
rage, having lost to Dick, had found a way, Agamemnon-like, to steal
himself a substitute prize. And here she was, all ivory-skinned and
sweet, trembling a little as she approached us, her nails lacquered and
her hair elaborately done up and her makeup perfect. She bore a small
bronze vessel. It was hot and steam wafted up from it. Jennifer
wiggled her nose a little as the rising steam tickled it. I guessed it
heated her bosoms a little and made her billowy shirt stick a little to
them. She held the tea kettle away from her so that her perky nipples
wouldn’t be injured by its hot bronze surface. Alluring in her nudity,
she wore big oven mitts on her hands to keep them from touching the tea
pot.
Jennifer knelt carefully with the pot and then placed it on a
hot plate beside our low table. Like the table, the hot plate sat on
the floor. A small stand was under it to keep it off the woven floor
mats that ran underneath us. The room smelled of bamboo, not a heavy
smell, like in old Asian houses, but a fresh scent, as if the bamboo had
just been cut and brought in from the jungle to serve us during our
ceremony.
MAGAZINE REVIEWS
by holy joe
Cosmopolitan, March 1998, $2.95. No web site listed.
Review: The girl who packed my bags at the grocery store gave
me a weird look when she saw me buying this magazine. I can’t help it.
It’s got some great information in it about sex.
Which brings up the question, why are the ladies’ magazines
about sex sold in the grocery store, where any child can read them,
while mens’ magazines about sex: a. aren’t even sold in the grocery
store, and b. can’t be bought or viewed by anyone under 18?
There’s better information about sex in this issue of
Cosmopolitan than I’ve ever seen in any issue of Playboy, Penthouse, or
Hustler. Consider these tips:
“If you want to get your guy off orally, first spend some time
stimulating his body from the navel to the knees with your hair. It
feels great! Then, focus your warm breath and kisses on the head of his
penis and the part that’s just beneath. For most men, the sensation is
the same as if you had the entire penis in your mouth. Also, make hand
play an active part of oral sex -- lightly caress his testicles and
stroke the shaft of his penis. This helps increase the intensity of
whatever you’re doing with your mouth.” (page 223).
(Just think, America, your 8-year-old daughter may be standing
in the grocery store reading that right now! And you thought banning
the Internet from her life would keep her from finding out about sex...)
There are many other great ideas in this issue of
Cosmopolitan. I don’t want to violate their copyright by retyping it
all on the Internet, but let me list just a few: (All of these are
written for females to do, to males.) (I suppose gays could try it too,
of course:)
1. Blow-job your man with frozen grapes in your mouth.
2. To make his dick feel warm, spray your mouth with Binaca
breath spray just before sucking him. Mint-flavored toothpaste also
works.
3. Place a vibrator against your cheek. Then, suck your man’s
penis.
4. Stroke or lick the hairless underside of a man’s balls.
5. Use a soft, manual toothbrush on his body (or yours).
6. “Use silk scarves or a pair of your panty hose to tie his
ankles and wrists together. ... Blindfold him and have him identify what
you’re doing: Slide an ice cube over his body or lick whipped cream or
chocolate sauce off his chest.” (page 226)
7. Blow-job your man with yogurt in your mouth.
8. Unzip your man’s fly with your teeth.
9. “Go to the supermarket wearing nothing but a raincoat.”
(page 226)
There are many, many other suggestions in this issue of
Cosmopolitan. I skipped over the ones dealing with the female body
since it would take too much brain-power for me to try to figure them
out. (Even with Gray’s Anatomy sitting here by my computer.) But, from
a man’s point of view, I think I hit all the really important ones.
It looks like the Christian Perdition has their work cut out
for them if they’re going to save America from sex...
Sexually Frustrated
by Laura Kramer
Would it be wrong,
to push against a wall, to kiss you?
Hard.
To pin your arms above your head,
and press my body against yours.
Hard.
To feel you.
How wonderful I would feel if you took me.
Laid me down and pressed your body onto mine.
Felt me.
Kissed me.
Fulfill my need for passion. Grasp it in your hand,
and release it upon my waiting body.
And then, after the need for passion has subsided,
lay next to me,
while I trace the lines of your body.
To begin to know you,
so that I can mold my body to yours and still feel the heat.
Is it wrong to want this?
To need this?
AND IN THE END...
GOSH, LADIES, ISN’T WORK FUN?
“Your vision: a corner office with a panoramic view, a
six-figure salary, a fat expense account complete with a generous
clothing allowance, and a gleaming limousine to ferry you to and from
the office...all, of course, before you hit 30. Your reality: a
cubicle the size of a bathroom stall.”
- Cosmopolitan, March 1998, page 229.
(You should have posed for Playboy. -h.j.)
-------------------------- Fuck Decency! ------------------------
-Back issues (and stories): type
http://www.dejanews.com/
into your browser’s “Location” window. Press your “return” key.
Find “standard” in the middle of the screen. Click on “standard”.
Change “standard” to “complete”.
Above the word “complete”,
Type in: roller39@idt.net
Press your “return” key.
-Or search using: roller666@earthlink.net
-Other providers:
Usenet Newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated
or by e-mail: file.request@backdrop.com
or via the Web: http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/
-Free minicomics: send a stamped, self-addressed envelope to: Jim
Corrigan, P.O. Box 3663, Phenix City, AL 36868
- JOIN the world’s greatest organization! Send $35.00 to The North
American Man/Boy Love Association for a one-year membership.
NAMBLA, P.O. Box 174, Midtown Station, New York, NY 10018.
-Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is
copyright 1998 and a trademark of Andrew Roller. Work by others
copyright 1998 by the respective copyright holder.
-END OF 349 EMISSION
“Brigid screamed and screamed, like a little girl of nine or
ten having her first spanking. She was no longer trying to kick like a
wicked child but surging her arse and twisting her hips as she shrieked
and floundered over the padded trestle.” (Noreen, page 36, published by
Blue Moon Books.)
At least she didn’t wind up like me! - Alison Average.
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